


Trying their Best

by happygiraffe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, And Rickon misses his parents, Brothers, Family Fluff, Gen, Modern AU, Modern Starks, No Spoilers, Not really though, Robb is not an adult, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, cuteness, direwolves, it's sad because they are so hopeful but we know everything is going to go wrong, mild swearing I guess, well I guess tiny s1 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygiraffe/pseuds/happygiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Now that Jon has gone North, Ned and the girls have gone South, and Catelyn spends her days beside Bran’s hospital bed, Robb and Rickon must learn to get along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Regardless of HBO's casting decisions, please be reminded that in AGOT (book 1) Robb is 14 and Rickon is 3.

“Rickon?” Robb pushed open the door. His shouts from below had been consistently ignored until he grew frustrated enough to march up the stairs himself and peer into his little brother’s bedroom. Rickon was propped up on his elbows, coloring in the middle of the floor. He scribbled moodily without acknowledging Robb, a white crayon clutched in his entire fist as he ground it into the paper.

Robb leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. “Rickon, are you going to come down and eat supper? I made mac-“

“Mac-n-cheese.” Rickon finished for him, pulling a face. “Again.”

“Well, what _do_ you want?” Robb was tempted to snap, but he kept his tone even.  “I can heat up tomato soup…”

“There’s no milk. ‘Ahcause you forgot to go shopping.”

Robb sighed. The accusation in Rickon’s voice stung because it was true, he’d been working so hard to fill their father’s shoes that he often forgot to play mother as well. At least with the political stuff he could count on Theon somewhat, but his dearest friend and neighbor had no interest in helping him babysit. “Well, you still have to eat something.”

“’m not hungry.” Rickon stuck out his bottom lip and used the side of the dresser to pull himself to his feet. He picked up two pieces of paper from the floor and busied himself with taping them to the wall beside his other artwork. One seemed to feature a potato with legs, while the other sheet just had a few waxy smudges on it. Rickon groaned with childish frustration and ripped the latter down, crumpling it. Rickon was screwing up his face as if he might cry. And Robb did _not_ want to deal with _that_.

“Is that Shaggydog?” he asked quickly, pointing at the potato-like one.

“Nymer’a. That’s Shaggy.” He pointed to another drawing.

Shaggy looked even more abstract, with an obtuse angle of a mouth showing huge shark fangs. A total of five pictures adorned the wall – Robb smiled as he recognized Grey Wind in one of them. The others were lighter in color, clearly Lady and Bran’s yet-unnamed pup.

“I’ve got a cool idea, Rickon. Why don’t we go eat supper, and afterwards you try drawing Ghost?”

“No!” Rickon shouted.

“Why not? He’s part of the pack too,”

“I already tried, but white crayons are stupid!” The three-year-old was threatening tears again.

“Alright, alright, forget the drawing. Just please, Rickon, come up with _something_ vaguely healthy that I can feed you tonight, and I swear I’ll go to the store and cook whatever you want tomorrow.”

 “No!”

“Why are you being so difficult?!”

“No shouting inside, Robb, that’s naughty!”

“Come downstairs, now!”

“No!”

“Fine, starve, then!” Robb stomped back down the stairs. _What would Mom have done? Hell if I know. Not that, probably._

 

 

He smelled it as soon as he entered the kitchen. _Oh shit_ ,

Fine gray smoke was creeping up from the pot of mac-n-cheese on the stove, curling around the lid in tendrils and building up in the air. The piercing screech of the smoke alarm began, and the dogs in the backyard took up its cry. _Double shit,_

Robb froze. Should he get water? He thought you weren’t supposed to put out kitchen fires with water. Or was that only when you were cooking with oil? Should he get Rickon and run to Theon’s house? Call 911?

He inched near enough to gingerly reach over the pot and turn off the stove. The air around it was uncomfortably hot. He wrapped his hand in a dishtowel and nudged the pot onto a cool burner.

Now what? The smoke was still rising, and Robb didn’t dare take off the lid. What if it caught fire? What if he burned the whole house down? His imagination supplied him with images of the Stark’s ancestral home, charred and gutted. No one would trust him with anything ever again. Rickon and Sansa and Arya would hate him. Mom and Dad would get in trouble for leaving him alone with Rickon because he wasn’t an adult. Never had he felt less like an adult.

“Robb?” squeaked a tearful voice from the doorway.

“Rickon, stop right where you are!” Robb roared. “Don’t come in here!”

“Robb, make it quiet!” Rickon’s hands were clapped over his ears.

Robb finally decided to use the dishtowel to pick up the pot by its handle and set it down in the sink. He turned on the faucet, and the reaction was immediate. Steam and smoke engulfed the kitchen, accompanied by an alarming hissing sound.

“I want Mama!” Rickon sobbed, still clutching at his ears.

“It’s okay,” said Robb (although what popped into his head was “Me too”)

He watched with his heart in his throat as the steam dwindled and the hissing died. The seconds dragged on. Robb gathered up the courage to approach, turning off the water and lifting the lid. A final puff of smoke escaped into the air, but inside was only cloudy water swirling with floating chunks of blackened macaroni.

“Robb?”

“It’s okay,” Robb repeated, believing it this time.

Robb pulled a chair under the smoke alarm and hit the button to silence its shrieks. He climbed down with wobbly knees, relief felt like it could suffocate him.

Rickon was crying more quietly now, rubbing his eyes with little fists. Robb heaved him up onto his hip and kissed the top of his head.

“Everything’s alright now, everybody’s safe. I’m so, so sorry, Rickon, that will never happen again.”

“Why—why—” Rickon hiccupped, clinging to a fistful of Robb’s sweatshirt. “Why did it get scary?”

“Because I left a pot on the stove by accident. And it got really, really hot and almost caught fire.”

“Oh,” said Rickon.

“But it didn’t. It could have been really bad but it wasn’t, and everything is okay. Okay?”

“Okay.” Rickon rubbed his eyes as Robb set him down and brushed the curls out of his face.

“I’m sorry I was short with you before, bud. I know you’re stressed out, but I am too. It’s a lot of work for me without Mama and Papa here.”

“You yelled.”

“I’m sorry. But guess what? Now neither of us have to eat mac-n-cheese!” He poked Rickon’s belly, which made the toddler giggle. “What do you say we don’t use the stove again, alright? Can we have sandwiches for supper?”

“Can mine be p-b-j?”

“You betcha.”

Rickon sat by the window, watching Grey Wind and Shaggydog chase each other around the yard while Robb fixed the sandwiches and microwaved some frozen vegetables.

“Robb, I want mine cut like Papa does it!”

“How does Papa do it?”

“In triangles!”

“Arrgh, too late!” groaned Robb, who had already cut it in half vertically. “Here, I’ll make each half into two little triangles for you,”

 “You’re not very good at making supper.”

Robb laughed. “Guess not.”

“Not like Papa. Papa should come make supper.”

“You remember where Papa is, right, Rickon?” asked Robb.

Rickon nodded sagely. “Papa is at work, but it’s a new work that’s too far away to come home at night. And Mama is with Bran.”

“That’s right, smarty pants. And they both still love us and wish they could be here, but they have important stuff to do.”

“I want them not to have important stuff. And Arya, and Jon. And sometimes I get really sad ahcause…ahcause…”

“Because what?”

“Ahcause I can’t draw Ghost!”

“Oh, Rickon,” Robb knew why it was crucial for the ‘pack’ on Rickon’s wall to be whole and together. “I miss them too. But they’ll be home soon. Do you want to go visit Bran tomorrow?”

Robb visited for an hour or so every morning, but the hospital understandably freaked Rickon out. Robb always left it up to him whether to stay with Osha or come along.

“Yeah, and we’ll see Mama!”

“That’s right,”

“I won’t tell Mama that you’re bad at supper.”

They laughed.

 

Robb successfully commandeered bathtime and pajama-time and even convinced Rickon to clean up his room without too much fuss (he’d mostly just shoved the toys under his bed, but you had to pick your battles). They went through their usual routine of calling Papa and saying goodnight, then calling Mama too because she always came home far after Rickon’s bedtime (when she came home at all, and didn’t spend the night in a chair beside Bran’s bed). When Robb came to tuck him in, he had something behind his back.

“Rickon, I thought of something for you,” he said. He showed his brother a piece of paper with two red dots in the middle. “Get it? It’s Ghost in the snow. You can’t see him because his fur blends in.”

Rickon grinned.

“Can I put it up on the wall?” Robb taped the picture in between Nymeria and Grey Wind. “There, now everybody’s here.”

Shaggydog and Grey Wind howled outside, no doubt calling to the rest of the pack. They could sense that the others were out there, somewhere.

“I know this isn’t perfect, but we’re doing okay. And it’s only for a little while.”

“Just a little while”, Rickon echoed, hugging Robb’s shoulder. “I love you,”

“Yeah, I love you too, bud.”


	2. Art

Quick illustration for this fic, by yours truly :)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story because as a first year uni student, I am Rickon. I want my Mama and I'm sick of eating mac-n-cheese. However, I am also Robb, overworked and for some reason keeps making mac-n-cheese.  
> If you enjoyed, perhaps consider leaving me a comment?


End file.
